Bathing Suit Shopping or the Importance of Listening

April 24, 2015September 15, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 6 Comments

“Come shopping with me” she said. “I’d like to get your opinion” He mumbled his “yes” only half-listening as husbands often do and went back to his paper. A good man to be sure but a man who would soon come to wish he’d listened more closely.

The department store was teeming with people. This occurred to him when he was trying to find a parking place. He hated crowds, frankly hated shopping.

“I’ll drop you off” he offered sweetly “and meet you inside, where will you be?”

“In Bathing Suits” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Remember, I told you I want your opinion?” She hopped out and disappeared into the throngs of eager shoppers. His stomach clenched. Bathing suits. “Dear God” he thought, casting his eyes towards heaven, wishing he’d been paying attention. “Should’ve told her I needed to organize my sock drawer…”

He finally chose a parking place some distance away, in part because there was shade, in part because it allowed him to slowly meander towards the store, buying time I suppose.

“TUESDAY IS SENIOR’S DAY” proclaimed signs in a profusion of color. That explained the crowds. Like a deer in the headlights he scanned signs above each department, finally asking a salesclerk where he’d find ladies swimsuits. She pointed and he swore she smirked.

In part due to the congestion of shoppers but also with impending dread, he dragged his heels as he made his way towards her. “Finally” she huffed, handing him an armload of bathing apparel “hang onto these, I’m still looking”. Feeling as uncomfortable as if he were handling her lingerie, he stood there laden down with floral prints, stripes and polka dots. He tried to envision her choices, shuddering at the thought of what was coming next. “Go get in line for me” He looked at her, clearly puzzled. “For the dressing rooms!” He followed her eyes and saw the line, he sighed. He saw another man in the same predicament. A pained look passed between them. As he got closer, he could hear conversations emanating from the dressing rooms. He could hear someone crying. “I feel you” he thought.

Finally she arrived back with more selections and a dressing room opened. “Wait right there and I’ll call you” she said. Nervously, he did as asked. “Ready!” she said as the door opened, “what do you think?” She was a sight in fuchsia flowers. “Umm hmm” was all he could think of. “Fine, let me try another”. “How about this?” she pirouetted in a jungle print. He didn’t know how to respond and could tell she was exasperated. Several more came and went, he was feeling light-headed, wanting to be kind but honest. “Ready!” she signaled again and he dutifully went back into the fray.

“Do you think this makes my butt look big?”

Not always a clever man, he clutched his chest and dropped to the floor. Paramedics were summoned.

“You okay Sam?” asked the paramedic who’s name badge said “Chuck”.

“Not sure what happened there Chuck”.

Then, discreetly he looked Chuck in the eye… and winked.

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Writing 101 assignment Day Twelve: Dark Clouds on the (Virtual) Horizon

Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-world conversation.

We don’t write in a bubble — we write in the world, and what we say is influenced by our experiences. Today, take a cue from something you’ve overheard and write a post inspired by a real-life conversation. Revisit a time when you wish you’d spoken up, reminisce about an important conversation that will always stick with you, or tune in to a conversation happening around you right now and write your reaction. Take time to listen — to what you hear around you, or what your memories stir up.

Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

My twist: I’m currently in Florida and was shopping for a bathing suit on Tuesday. I may or may not be the one who was crying in the dressing room in this story, you decide. But I did see such a man who appeared to be in pain in this very scenario and paramedics were called to the store while I was there…..

My Home at age 12

April 20, 2015September 15, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 6 Comments

At age twelve, I lived with my parents and my sister. Mom and Dad designed and built our home seven years earlier. I recall a visit there while it was under construction.

“This is your bedroom” Dad announced “and Lisa, this is yours”. We squealed with delight as we ran into the empty rooms, straight to the windows. With nothing but the frames, we leaned out and waved. “What fun” we thought “we’re neighbors!” A novelty to be sure, we’d always shared a room.

The home was on a quiet, tree-lined side street, walking distance from the family business. At it’s end was a park. My aunt, her family and my grandparents lived on the corner and across the street respectively. It shared mix of homes. Some modest, ours was one of the largest.

My lifelong BFF lived around the corner. I’d walk to school with my her, my sister, cousins and neighbor kids. It was so close that often I’d run home from school and eat lunch with Mom.

We had a deep back yard with rolling hills. Dad hung a tree swing in the willow tree, my favorite to climb. By the time I was twelve, he’d had an a-frame treehouse constructed. Incredibly unique, it was “the place” to hangout or have sleep-overs. It also was “home-base” for hide-and-seek. Ours was the best yard in the neighborhood for hiding places you see.

A brick, ranch-style house, it was modern with many striking features. A fieldstone, wrap-around fireplace visible from both the living and family rooms. A sauna Dad installed, inspired following our trip to the Montreal 67 Expo where we’d experienced our first sauna. The finished walk-out basement with thick cream-colored shag carpet, a fire-engine red, free-standing gas fireplace and a bar. That bar top took 3 men to carry in and featured river rocks set in lucite. I’ve never seen another like it.

At age twelve, I got to update my pale pink bedroom. It was the late 60’s. I chose black carpet, black and silver beads for my windows, adding a lime-green Tiffany lamp and matching crushed-velvet chair. A creamy white faux-fur bedspread was the crowning touch. Add a black light and psychedelic posters pinned onto a cork board that Mom covered with black burlap. A seriously cool room for an almost-teen.

I loved that home, the neighborhood, the town. I felt safe there, knew all the neighbors. There were tons of kids the same age. Kickball, softball, sledding, bike riding and the like filled those years. We played outside till dark or later, summoned home when we heard our parents call our names.

I would later become the President of the Chamber of Commerce in this town and chose to live my life here. Thirty years ago I moved into the house that my grandparents built when my Dad was a boy, a home I’d been in as a child. The bonus? It’s walking distance from my childhood home.

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Our Writing 101 assignment for today, was to write about where we lived at age twelve. The twist was to mix long, medium and short sentences.

Memories of Grandpa Fox’s Chicken

April 18, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 12 Comments

I have so many memories relating to food from childhood to adulthood, from beloved family recipes to exquisite food I’ve enjoyed in my travels. Loving food as I do, it’s no wonder that even as a child, I gravitated towards watching my Grandpa Fox prepare meals with love and joy.

Grandpa Fox was Mom’s father and had retired at a young age after a lengthy illness. After he recovered, he took up cooking. And not just any cooking – the man had a passion and a talent that took his food to gourmet status. I still cherish a number of his recipes, written with his favorite green ink pen, detailing every step of preparation.

Today, I’m focused on his chicken, first off – his fried chicken. If my sister and I knew that Grandpa was making fried chicken, the drive from our home to theirs seemed to take an eternity (or about twenty minutes). As we entered the house, the aroma was tantalizing. Even today I can close my eyes and remember the smell of that chicken sizzling as he fried it to perfection in butter. I was always so grateful that the sight of that chicken frying meant we would be eating soon. Golden, crunchy, tender, each bite was sheer delight. Having discovered that I loved chicken wings, which were also Grandma’s favorite, he’d call me to his side to confide that by a stroke of luck he found a chicken with extra wings. That luck held out for years and I can still remember the twinkle in his eye each time he told me, likely sparked by the sheer happiness on my face as a result of his good fortune.

Then, there was Grandpa’s rotisserie chicken. Fixed on a little old charcoal grill with a small hickory chip smoking tray and a flip top lid, he would load several whole chickens onto the rotisserie, grab a cold beer (or two) and set up his chair so that he was nearby to baste them. Enjoying beautiful Michigan summer days, he would sit back and wait – for us to arrive but also every one of his neighbors who were drawn to his grill. “A nickel a peek” he’d say and then raise that grill top to reveal these gorgeous spinning birds to “oohs and ahhs”. I’m certain those neighbors went home wistful that they could’ve snagged an invite to dinner at Mr. Fox’s house. My sister and I could always count on “free peeks”. Joining him in our little folding chairs as soon as we arrived, we willed him to cook them faster as the smells from that grill had our stomachs growling.

Many years later, Spence bought me one of those “set it and forget it” rotisserie ovens and I have cooked countless whole chickens on them, as recently as last week.

Each time my house fills with the aroma of the rotisserie chicken, I wonder if Grandpa is looking down on me remembering all our chicken dinners together. I figured out the secret ingredient he added to his cooking; it was his love of cooking and the love for those he cooked for.

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Our Writing 101 assignment today was to recall a favorite childhood meal, how it made us feel, was always a treat, meant celebration or comforted us, with roots in our memory.

The twist, tell it in our own “voice”.

The Milkman

April 15, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 4 Comments

The Milkman and The Mountain

Just after daybreak I could hear him approaching in the distance.

Clip clop, clip clop then the subtle ring of a metal bell. Standing tall, like the mountains behind him, on the bed of a flatbed wagon pulled by a mule. Summoned by that bell, women in the barrio would bring their coins and a vessel – a bowl, a pitcher, to their gate at the roadside. Ramrod straight, the milkman would dip his ladle into a tall metal canister and bring out the desired quantity at each stop. His balance was impeccable, never faltering as he navigated the cart along the main road with traffic speeding by.

Clip clop, clip clop, stop, ring, ladle and repeat.

It was difficult to guess his age, I suspected he appeared older as did most of the men in this country. Skin weathered as brown and terra cotta red as those glorious mountains in the backdrop and the dust kicked up and swirling from vehicles racing by. Muscular, wiry, wizened as this land, his daily routine, starting before dawn and producing a miniscule income. It was clear from his demeanor he was proud in the knowledge he was providing a vital service to the families counting on his delivery.

I made a point of rising earlier than usual each morning and taking my tea on our porch along his route. Clip clop, clip clop, stop, ring, he was near. I would wait and catch his eye as he passed.

“Adios” I would offer, “Adios” he would reply with a gentle smile.

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Day 8 of Writing 101 – today’s prompt and twist involved adverbs – “Death to Adverbs”

Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.

Thoughtful writers create meaning by choosing precise words to create vivid pictures in the reader’s mind. As you strive to create strong imagery, show your readers what’s going on; avoid telling them.

Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post. If you’d rather not write a new post, revisit and edit a previous one: excise your adverbs and replace them with strong, precise verbs.

I chose to edit a post that came from one of the first pieces I wrote just after retiring (a writing class assignment). It is a favorite of mine, lent itself to the “Death to Adverbs” theme and there was an adverb I could execute – done! Published early on in the blog as “The Milkman and The Mountain” it takes place in Costa Rica and is taken from my personal experiences.

Spring or Fall in Michigan

April 14, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 2 Comments

“I’m the best season” claimed The Spring, “Everyone loves those first signs of life after a long winter”.

“I respectfully disagree”, The Fall replied, “People love the fall after the heat of summer, those first cooler days, the way I change the landscape into an array of colors”.

“Humbly, I must deny your claim of being the best season” countered The Spring. “I turn grass from brown to green, make the trees bud then flower, push up tulips, crocus, daffodils and hyacinth. The air smells sweet with apple and cherry blossoms, the soft spring rain, the warming days and cool nights. What say you to that Fall?”

“I can’t argue that you put forth a good show Spring” said The Fall sincerely, “But I bring forth mums, pumpkins and gourds, the smell of apples being harvested and pressed into cider, the telltale smoke of chimneys as people can enjoy their fireplaces.”

At this point, I can no longer hold back (as the author of this imagined dialogue), “You are both equally lovely. Indeed, after a long bitter-cold winter, I’m thrilled to see my garden coming to life in The Spring, the promise of getting my hands in the dirt and planting. To open my windows, enjoy sitting on my deck, sipping a glass of wine on those first warm-enough-to-not wear-a-jacket evenings”

“But then comes The Fall. Those first days when it’s just cool enough to start wearing layers, the smell in the air of leaves wet with dew and the profusion of color that changes them into a vibrant palette of orange, yellow, red, gold and green when the sun lights up the trees. That crispness to the air on a fall mornings and evenings. Wine tasting as our vineyards bring forth the new harvest.”

Having listened thoughtfully, The Spring and The Fall agreed that they each were special in their own way and decided to applaud, each the other.

Meanwhile, The Summer sat back silently knowing that she’s the best season. The Winter just sat sulking, as cold as ever.

Today’s Prompt: “Give and Take”

Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue.

A Smile and a Wave

April 14, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 7 Comments

It was Spence who first brought him to my attention, less than a mile from my home, as you round the bend coming into our little downtown. Spence honked and waved.

“Who are you waving at?” I asked.

“My buddy” he answered. But we’d already driven past.

I started paying attention. A young man with Down’s Syndrome, in his twenties if I had to guess, sitting in front of his house and waving to passing drivers. I started waving back whenever I saw him. Always cheerful, consistently enthusiastic, he brightens my day as I imagine he does for others. He’s like our small town’s ambassador. In the bitter cold of winter, his time outside was curtailed but I’d still look.

Just a few days ago, Spence and I were driving into town.

“Oh no” he remarked “He’s in a wheelchair”. Not knowing the nature of his health, we both feared what that meant.

Quite by chance, I saw a post on Facebook a few hours later. It introduced Dustin and talked of his joy in waving to friends, how he loved making people happy. Dustin recently had surgery that confined him to a wheelchair during a three month recovery. And until recently, kept him housebound. That is when some good citizens came forward and built a ramp for him. Just heard there was a need and stepped up in a single weekend to return a kindness. Dustin had impacted them with his unbridled friendliness and in turn, made new friends.

Happy to know that the wheelchair is only temporary we now had a name and a glimpse into this endearing young man’s life.

A smile and a wave can make a difference.

Writing 101 assignment for today was to share a character study of someone we’d met who’d impacted our lives within the last year.

Running Away

April 10, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 9 Comments

Mommy,

I’m running away from home.

You can’t just take away my teddy bear cause I broke the TV. It isn’t fair. I didn’t mean to. I found where you hid Baby Teddy and I rescued him. We’ll be together forever.

I made us a bag of brown sugar sandwiches and took my fuzzy pink sweater. Don’t look for us. Especially at Grandma’s house. That’s not where we’re going.

From Writing 101 – Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter. Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible. My twist: I find a letter recently when helping my Mom move. I wrote it as a little girl, the only time I ran away…..to my Grandma’s house, across the street. I had no idea she’d kept it.

Losing the Ability to Sleep

April 9, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 2 Comments

For today’s Writing 101 prompt, we were to compose the first in a three-part series about loss, taking any direction that we choose.

Losing the Ability to Sleep

For most of my life, I’ve felt like I need eight hours of sleep but that ten or twelve hours would be even better. As a child, I have memories of fighting nap time and bed time. To know then what I learned later. NEVER EVER PASS UP A CHANCE TO SLEEP. And as a child, the ability to fall asleep is organic. Oh to go back and catch up!

As a young adult, living on my own, I chose to work full days then party till the wee hours. This left me with very little sleep but adrenaline and youth got me through those years.

Fast forward to my mid-thirties when the stress of watching my employee (at the time a friend) have a total breakdown over a period of months rendered me sleepless. She became unrecognizable and despite seeking professional help, dangerous and toxic to everyone around her. Even after changing jobs and ending that “relationship”, I was stuck in a cycle of insomnia that lasted for nearly twenty years.

Looking for a solution I tried everything. I bought a new bed. A hot tub. Did a sleep study. Tried Ambien, antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds. The sleep study had determined that I never fell into REM sleep, that I would jerk awake repeatedly all night long. I felt like a zombie. I held down a job (in sales no less) that took every ounce of energy to stay focused, even with 1-2 hours total sleep. I felt desperate.

The one respite that started me back on track were vacations in which I could fall back into a pattern of deep sleep and dreaming. During the years Spence and I traveled to Costa Rica, we would come back midday, take a cool shower followed by a siesta. Siestas – best idea ever! Never one to be able to sleep during the day, I found I could do it then because there was no pressure to wake up by a certain time.

In recent years, I’ve been better. Work related stress would trigger restless nights but I didn’t slip back into longterm patterns. Retiring in February 2014 was the biggest turning point. Now if I woke up in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t fret about it. I would either grab my Kindle or meditate knowing that the clock didn’t dictate my life and the alarm wouldn’t go off just as I drifted into deep sleep.

I wrote a poem last year about insomnia and though it appears elsewhere on my blog, felt I’d share it again here.

Insomnia

When you are young, sleep comes naturally, effortlessly.
Falling into bed, asleep on impact.
When did it start? Can’t shut off the thoughts in my monkey brain.
Oh my, why did I ever say no to a nap?

Falling into bed, asleep on impact.
So many problems to be solved, hurts to be healed, staring at the clock.
Oh my, why did I ever say no to a nap?
Tick tock, tick tock, sleep eludes me, so tired yet so wired.

Peace of mind restored, letting go, accepting what I cannot change.
When did it start? Can’t shut off the thoughts in my monkey brain.
Gratitude as sleep returns, how I now cherish a rest-filled night.
When you are young, sleep comes naturally, effortlessly.

Just Three Songs?

April 8, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 2 Comments

From our third Writing 101 assignment participants are asked to free write about the three most important songs in our life.

My first thought “ugh”. Not because I don’t love music but rather because I LOVE MUSIC. In order to complete the assignment without completely losing my mind I’m going to slightly alter it to choose my three favorite albums.

Court and Spark by Joni Mitchell
Aqualung by Jethro Tull
Live at the Troubadour by Carole King and James Taylor

The first two were easy enough since I owned them on LP, cassette, CD and full downloads to my iPod. The third I happened upon quite by accident at my neighborhood Blockbuster check-out counter which featured a CD/DVD pack of a live performance by the incomparable Carole King and James Taylor.

Court and Spark: The brilliance that is Joni Mitchell is never brighter than on this compilation (in my humble opinion). I know the words to every song and they still evoke emotions at age 58 though in a different way than they did when I discovered it in high school. The songs are lyrical, painting musical pictures. Her voice resonates. I have listened to this during happy times but also when nursing a broken heart. It is in a word…..divine.

Aqualung represents the “rock chick” that I was at 16 and still am today. This album was being released at the same time I went to see Jethro Tull in concert. Having already discovered an earlier album by them, I was excited about the new release. I’d never been to a concert but cannot imagine a better performance than what I experienced that night. Ian Anderson, the lead singer and player of the flute, (that is such a defining instrument in their body of work), was electric. I was mesmerized, gob-smacked, mind blown. The songs are stories crafted inside of music that you can’t explain in words. If you made me choose one song from the album, it would be “Locomotive Breath”.

And lucky me, last fall Spence and I traveled to see Jethro Tull in Buffalo, New York. (see my earlier blog post “Flash Back – Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, then and now” for more about that experience and some little known trivia…..intrigued? I hope so.)

Live at the Troubadour is like a gift from the gods. First of all, the life work of James Taylor and Carole King, two of the most gifted singer/songwriters is without equal (again, I’m blogging so I get to state my opinion but sense I’m not alone). Spence and I have listened to this CD (and watched the DVD) so many times it would be impossible to guess. These are songs that are lovely, evocative and so interwoven into our lives and memories that you couldn’t extricate them if you wanted to – and why would you want to? Listening to this music brings tears to my eyes, a smile to my face and an overall sense that everything is right with the world.

So there you have it. Not so hard an assignment once I tweaked it a bit.

Haven

April 8, 2015September 20, 2015 ~ Spence's Girl ~ 6 Comments

For the Writing 101 Assignment for Day Two, participants were asked to be transported to a place we’d want to go to right now, our “room with a view”, the back story and how it affects us.

Where I want to go right now: In a few short weeks, Spence and I will be heading back to this place; I simply need to be patient. It is a place we’ve vacationed every year since we discovered it.

The Back Story: A number of years ago, I found a place on homeaway.com that Spence and I now think of as our second home. Located in the midst of the woods, through a valley, up a winding hillside adjacent to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park in Tennessee, it is a haven for Spence and I. Here we reconnect with each other and nature, recharge and relax. A log-built home, perfect for two and with no one else in sight. Our haven.

The “Room with a View” and How it Affects Us: With a balcony off the loft and one off the bedroom, these are our windows to the sunrise, rainfall, woodlands and wildlife. I rise early and climb the stairs to the loft, a steaming cup of tea in my hand and a soft blanket to wrap around me. I inhale the pine scented air, breathe in the dew on the leaves as I feel the steam from the tea against my face.

I sense the breeze and watch the sun as it peeks through the leaves.

I listen closely for signs of wildlife as we’ve seen bears here but am more likely to see butterflies and squirrels. I meditate and enjoy the solitude, grateful for everything good in my life.

During the day and into the evening, our balconies draw Spence and I to them. Here we read, talk about everything or nothing, happily observe and enjoy being together. With many a glass of wine or beer, we’ve toasted each other as daylight fades into twilight then to dark.

At least once every trip, it rains. At times intense then soft, it’s always welcome at night when it lulls us to sleep. Last year on our first night while sipping a glass of wine, we heard the rain start to fall. I stood and leaned against the railing with my face and arms stretched forward. Spence held me and we remained there, suspended in the moment, letting the mist cover us.